


Time Heals All Wounds

by Kittycrackers (Calacious)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Angst, Crossover Pairings, Dead Weasleys, Hurt/Comfort, Loose crossover, M/M, Mostly set in the Twilight setting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2018-04-15 04:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4592667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Kittycrackers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Ron's family dies at the hand of Death Eaters, he's sent to live with some distant cousins in Forks. Jasper takes an interest in the young wizard, and seems to be the only one Ron feels comfortable confiding in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. History

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this work of fiction; they belong respectively to JK Rowling and Stephanie Meyer.
> 
> Hoping that archiving this here will help spark writing for this.

Jasper looked up as the classroom door opened and closed, and a boy with the reddest hair he'd ever seen stepped into the room, eyes downcast. He murmured an accented, "Hullo," to the teacher and was directed to sit down next to Jasper.

"Students," Mr. Hollings, the history teacher, addressed the class, "this is Ron Weasley; he hails from England, and will be with us for the remainder of the school year. Please welcome him. Ron?" Mr. Hollings frowned as the new student took his indicated seat, without looking up, and slumped down in the chair. "Would you mind introducing yourself to the class?"

A simple shake of the head and a sudden blush of crimson coloring his cheeks, were the only answers that Ron gave the teacher, and he slunk even further into the plastic chair, as though attempting to meld himself to it. Jasper could feel the waves of tension, sorrow and fear coming off of him; they overpowered the almost overwhelmingly heady scent of blood produced by his profuse blushing, making their close proximity almost intolerable for Jasper. If Alice had not been sitting next to him, her slight arm resting on his thigh, effectively holding him in place, he would have either attacked the new kid or fled the room in panic.

Mr. Hollings cleared his throat and said, "Well, perhaps another time then."

Ron, arms held tight to his chest, nodded, and Jasper felt some of the tension leave the tall, young man. He leaned as far away from Ron as he could get, and still it didn't feel far enough. The boy's blood fairly sang to him, and he clenched his jaw so tightly that it audibly creaked, causing Ron to look up at him, startled. Jasper held his breath and looked away from the storm-filled blue eyes. He didn't know if he could control himself.

As Mr. Hollings resumed his lecture on the Civil War, Jasper attempted to get lost in the man's words, hoping they would aid him in his struggle with bloodlust. Hollings's information was mostly accurate, but unless one had lived through the war, witnessed it firsthand, and borne the scars of battle, one could never truly do the telling of any war justice. Not for the first time, Jasper wondered why he was sitting in class, listening for the umpteenth time about something that he knew more about than anyone else.

He was so focused on his inner turmoil that he missed a question posed by Mr. Hollings who was now standing a few feet away staring down at him and Ron. Ron was shaking almost imperceptibly; Jasper doubted that anyone, other than himself, Alice, Rosalie, and Emmett, seated a row behind them, noticed. When Mr. Hollings took a faltering step back, as though compelled to do so, Ron let out a sigh, and the shaking eased.

"I'm sorry sir, what did you say?" Jasper asked politely, smiling a little.

Ron had leaned closer to him, and the scent of his blood was quickly becoming difficult to ignore. He could feel Alice, Rosalie and Emmett tensing, readying themselves to remove him from the danger that they could sense he was in.

"I was assigning groups for the Civil War project, and thought that, since Mr. Weasley was new, and you seem to have a fair grasp on the subject, it would be best to pair him with you."

"Uh," Jasper floundered, trying to find the right words to refuse the pairing.

"Could all three of us work on the project together?" Alice, her voice cheerful and light, interrupted and, much to Jasper's amusement, as well as disappointment, Mr. Hollings nodded his assent.

"Alice," Jasper whispered, his voice chastising, "you know I can't…"

"Don't worry about it," Alice said, there was a telltale, knowing look in her eyes. A sad smile graced her lips. On impulse, she reached over Jasper and placed a hand on Ron's shoulder.

The boy jerked in response and scooted his chair sideways, almost falling out of it. Had Jasper not been privy to his newest classmate's cacophony of swirling emotions, he might have laughed along with the rest of the class. He tried to calm the young man who was now panicking in earnest, but his powers of persuasion seemed to have little effect on him.

Ron looked around the classroom, eyes wide and wild and brimming with tears of fear and humiliation. He stood with a half-sob, and ran out the door.

Jasper didn't know why he did it. Couldn't understand the impulse that overtook him as he raced after the human, but was relieved that the chase was not compelled by a thirst for blood. He was vaguely aware that Alice was following him as he searched for the boy, finally finding him hunched over by the base of a broad pine tree, tears sparked by anger, sorrow and embarrassment streaking down his face.

Jasper sat, keeping a distance between himself and the redhead, and waited. Alice flopped down next to him, and grasped his hand, squeezing it lightly in reassurance.

"He needs you," she said simply.

Jasper didn't understand. He was a monster. He had bled humans dry far too many times to count, and had been little more than an assassin, playing along with the will of his mistress. A few minutes ago, he had been imagining what Ron's blood would taste like: pungent, spiced with recklessness, tempered with a bone-weary sorrow.

"It should have been me." Ron's voice cracked, stirring something inside of Jasper that he thought was long dead, and he risked moving closer to the grieving boy, ignoring the worried looks that Emmett and Rosalie exchanged when they arrived.

It was then that Jasper noticed the scars, mostly hidden by the overlarge shirt that Ron wore. They were thin and crisscrossed his chest. He recognized them immediately – wounds from a rapier-like weapon. The sheer number of those that he could see spoke volumes. The kid should rightfully be dead, especially if the crisscross pattern of scars continued beneath the shirt that covered the rest of his torso.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Ron bellowed, pushing Jasper away when he placed a hand on his arm, pulling at the fabric of his shirt to view the rest of the scars he was certain lay beneath the thin material.

Unable to help it, he let a low growl slip, and Ron stiffened, leaning back against the trunk of the tree as though he hoped it would swallow him. The tears had ceased, though the remnants of them still glittered on Ron's freckled cheeks.

"What happened?" Jasper questioned, having confirmed his suspicions.

"None of your business," Ron whispered. His voice was hoarse with emotion, and Jasper could tell that he was close to tears again.

"Who hurt you?" He couldn't seem to stop himself from asking. Though he sensed that Ron did not want to talk, he pushed, letting his hand hover a little above his shoulder a few seconds before actually touching him.

"Leave it," Ron said, wariness was evident in his voice, though he didn't shrug off the hand.

"Ron, let us help you." Alice had quietly positioned herself on the other side of Ron. Rosalie and Emmett were still keeping their distance, close enough to intervene should Jasper not have his hunger under control, and yet far enough away not to crowd the newcomer.

"No one can help me," Ron whispered. "I couldn't help them. No one can help me."

 


	2. Solace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to go on living when everyone that you loved is dead.

Jasper's heart went out to the human. He couldn't quite fathom what was going on, it didn't make sense. Carlisle, Esme and Edward were more drawn to humanity than he was. Sure, he'd stopped feeding on humans, but that didn't mean he wanted to cozy up with them either. As a matter of fact, it was downright dangerous for him to be sitting so close to one, regardless of the close proximity of his lover and adopted family.

He'd never felt this way about anyone, other than Alice, before and it was mildly disconcerting. He felt an odd mixture of empathy, pain and something else that he couldn't quite name. Empathy was something that he was no stranger to; it was part of who he was. He felt the emotions of those around him very keenly. At times, such as now, it was extremely painful.

"I don't want to be here," Ron whispered, digging his fingers into the grass, pulling at it.

"I know," Jasper drawled, momentarily forgetting that he was a bloodsucking vampire and that Ron was a young, hurting human.

"Why'd you follow me?" Ron asked, his voice conveying wariness well beyond his years as he turned to face him.

"It looked like you needed a friend," Alice supplied quietly, and Jasper was grateful that she'd followed them outside.

Ron's half-smile at her words was accompanied with a groan and, much to Jasper's surprise, the boy started laughing. It was an uncontrolled, sobbing, hysterical laughter that subsided nearly as abruptly as it started as the boy's laughter dissolved into tears.

Ron's muttered 'sorry' prompted Jasper to do something he would never, if he lived another hundred years, believe himself capable of as he drew the boy into an awkward, impromptu hug. He ignored the shocked gasps of his siblings as the boy wrapped his arms around him and wept.

Alice's hand resting on his lower back helped to ground him. Ron's scent this close up was proving difficult for him to resist. The blood pulsing within the boy's veins, so close, within easy reach, was difficult for Jasper to contend with as the boy's body pressed against his, the heat radiating off of the thin boy almost burning him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this close to a living, breathing human being. It felt nice.

"Jasper."

Though he spoke the name quietly, Emmett's voice was strained with worry and fear. Jasper could feel Rosalie's swirling, raging emotions – worry, terror, anger… she didn't want to be uprooted again, didn't think that he could handle being so close to a human and not kill.

The warmth felt good, and Jasper thought that maybe he could understand what Edward saw in Bella, and why he didn't give into the urge to taste her blood or drink her dry. The power was intoxicating. Jasper knew that, if he wanted to, he could crush Ron, steal his very breath from him, break his bones, and make him bleed. He could make the boy beg him for life, and even for death itself. He could bend the boy to his will, make him do his bidding.

With a gasp, Jasper pulled away from Ron, shaking his head to clear it. If that is what Edward had to face every time he saw Bella, the vampire was a masochist. Jasper didn't know how he did it. His adoptive brother's carefully controlled emotions barely touched the surface of what it felt like to have a trusting human trembling in his arms.

"Sorry," he said.

Ron blinked and wrapped his arms around himself. His tears had subsided and he was shivering in the cool afternoon. The sun was obscured by clouds, and he'd left everything, including his coat, behind in the classroom he'd fled.

Embarrassment colored his cheeks a deep red and he looked away from the students who'd followed him out of the school. He'd never met anyone like them before. As he looked at them through the fringes of his lashes, he was startled to find that they almost didn't seem human. They looked otherworldly.

"We should be getting back," the tall blonde girl said.

Her long hair fell in flaxen cascades down her back. She would have been beautiful had it not been for the look on her face. It was a cross between utter disgust and Malfoy superiority. Ron found it as amusing as it was disconcerting. The glare she sent in his direction communicated contempt and made Ron feel that, in her eyes, he was little more than a bug to be squashed beneath the heel of her expensive shoes.

"Yes, I suppose we should," Jasper, the boy who'd held him, said.

Ron couldn't quite place his accent, but it wasn't anything like that of the blonde girl or their history teacher. The Newtons sounded different as well. The older boy's accent was soothing, and, much to his mortification, Ron found that he wanted to hear him say something else. Anything would do, just as long as he could listen to the comforting, lilting tone of his voice.

Ron felt everyone's eyes on him and he looked at the ground where his fingers were clutching a tuft of grass. He didn't know who these people were or why they'd followed him. He'd left the class wanting nothing more than to be left alone with his thoughts. And now, he was confused. He didn't know how he felt. Angry? Sad? Like his world was spinning out of control? _Safe_? That was how he'd felt when he'd been held. Safe. Something he hadn't felt in what seemed like years; though in reality his life had only been turned upside down a couple of weeks ago.

"You ready to go in Ron?" Jasper asked and he found himself nodding even though his emotions were still wildly out of control.

"What are you doing?" Though the question was hissed to Jasper in little more than a whisper, Ron caught it and the underlying threat beneath the words.

"Just drop it Rose," Jasper answered in an equally quiet whisper.

"First Edward and now you," Rose said with a shake of her head. "You're both going to put all of us in danger."

Ron frowned at that, not sure how helping him could put the four teens in danger. But then he instantly thought of Harry and paled. Simply being Harry's friend had put him and his family in danger. It made him sick to his stomach, and if he hadn't been focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, he would have lost his meager breakfast right there on the school lawn.

"I'm alright now," Ron said, squaring his shoulders. "Thanks for," he swallowed, "everything."

He attempted a smile and grimaced as it reminded him of Fred and George. The twins were either smiling or making others smile. It felt like he was betraying their memory and he frowned, his heart aching with the loss of their intoxicating laughter.

The rest of the walk to the school building was completed in silence, though it looked to Ron as if there was a private conversation taking place between the four teens. Ron strained his ears to hear it, worried that they might be discussing him, but the quietly spoken words eluded him.

The bell rang, which Ron now understood signaled the end of a class period, and he hurried into the building to gather the items he'd left behind. He wracked his brain, trying to remember his schedule, wishing, not for the first time since he'd been sent to live in America, that Hermione was with him.

"Ron," a lilting voice called out after him and he turned to face a small, pixie-like girl, "when do you want to get together to work on our Civil War project?"

Ron groaned, he'd completely forgotten about the assigned project and honestly wanted nothing to do with it. He was content with merely going through the motions and disappearing through the cracks.

He shrugged noncommittally and hurried in through the double doors, intent upon losing the foursome, hoping that the pixie girl would forget all about him. All four of them were more Malfoy's type than his. He was a Weasley. A redheaded nobody. The friend of Harry Potter. The boy whose family was dead. He didn't want or need any new friends.

He ducked his head and hurried to the classroom he'd fled from, weaving through students hurrying in the opposite direction, ignoring the shouts of 'Ron' that followed him as he went. He quickly gathered his bag, stuffing his notebook and pencil into it and all but ran to his next class – English. One of two classes he had with his newly discovered cousin, Mike.

If he was lucky, what had happened in history class would be forgotten by the end of the day and Jasper and his friends would leave him alone.


	3. Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories haunt us, and sometimes make it hard to move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what actually sparked this story. 
> 
> Set probably around fifth year for Ron, and before Bella became a vampire for Twilight.

"Time heals all wounds," the English teacher was saying, and Ron wished that it was true, that time really did heal all wounds, but it didn't. He had firsthand knowledge of that little tidbit of truth.

If time healed all wounds, he wouldn't be sitting in a dinky, Muggle classroom in the US, living with his long-lost American cousins, putting up with their constant patience and sorrow on his behalf as they looked at him with long suffering sighs and pity-filled eyes. The Newtons were nice enough, but he was tired of them treating him as if he would break any minute, like his mother's prized china had when the twins were practicing their levitating skills.

If time healed all wounds, the scars which littered his back and chest would have been erased with one of Snape's prized potions. If time healed all wounds, he wouldn't wake each night in a fevered sweat, screaming out his sister's name, begging a madman for Fred and George's lives, calling out to his mother and father as he relived, in Technicolor and surround sound, the slaughter of his family at the hands of Voldemort and his demented followers.

If time healed all wounds, he'd be back at the Burrow, listening to one of Bill's tales of adventure, or enduring one of Percy's pompous rants, or being enthralled by one of Charlie's near death experiences with a fire-breathing dragon. If time healed all wounds, he'd be able to return a pretty girl's smile or think about Harry without hating him for what had happened to his family.

If time healed all wounds, Ronald Bilius Weasley, would not feel like there was a gaping hole in his chest the size of the moon. It wouldn't hurt to breathe. The world, as he knew it, wouldn't have stopped and tilted on its axis, spilling him into a cold, callous abyss, encompassed by loneliness and a deep, soul-wrenching grief.

He'd mulled those words, spoken almost casually by Dumbledore just after his family was killed, over in his mind, again and again, day after day, until they ran into each other, like colors bleeding together in the wash, until they ceased to have meaning. He recalled every detail of the day Dumbledore had delivered his cure-all speech.

_The air was crisp, cool and smelled rusty, like blood. Dumbledore and Snape sat across from him at the kitchen table in Grimmauld Place. He couldn't look either man in the eye, knowing that if he did, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from attacking them._

_It had been Dumbledore's lack of foresight and Snape's protective hand which had cost him his family. If Snape hadn't cast a body-binding and silencing charm on him, after Bellatrix hit him with some sort of cutting curse, he'd be dead, as he should be. Snape had used a confounding charm on dear old Bella, and hidden Ron in plain sight with another charm. He'd been made to bear silent witness to the torture and death of his family, unable to move or turn away or close his eyes. He hated Dumbledore and Snape with every fiber of his being for what they'd done._

_He hadn't even known that he had family in the States until Dumbledore told him. He recalled snatches of the conversation. His eyes and mind had been focused on the gnarled tabletop where Dumbledore's hands, wrinkled and pale, rested, one on top of the other._

" _Distant cousins…"_

" _Karen and Michael Newton, and their son, Mike."_

" _Muggles…"_

"… _by Floo…train…tomorrow…."_

_His ears had perked up at that, and he risked a glance at Dumbledore's face, hating the look of sadness he saw there. Dumbledore had no right to be sad. He should have stopped the attack. He should have saved his family._

" _Ronald, I_ am _sorry," Dumbledore's voice, thick with sorrow, had grated on his nerves; he'd flinched and pulled away when the Headmaster placed a wrinkled hand over his._

" _Ronald, I know that you're angry and rightfully so. There are no words to express how very sorry I am for your loss. I do know this though," he sighed heavily, "time is a miraculous healer. Though you will never forget your family, over time, Ronald, you will move on with your life. Things will get easier. The day will seem brighter."_

_Ron shook his head, holding back tears of rage._

" _Time, Ron, will heal all your wounds." Dumbledore had patted him on the hand, and Ron thought he heard Snape snort derisively. For once, he agreed with Snape. Dumbledore was full of shit._

_Dumbledore had cleared his throat after sending Snape a chastising look. "And toward that end," he'd said, way too cheerfully for Ron's liking, "I am sending you to the United States, to live with your cousins, and give you a break from this war-torn world."_

_Ron's vehement protest, that he didn't want a break, fell on stubborn, deaf ears, and, before he knew it, he was sitting in the living room of his American cousins' home in Forks, Washington, while Dumbledore told Karen and Michael a modified version of what had happened. They'd agreed to take him in, knowing nothing of the magical world (Dumbledore hadn't enlightened them about that) and Ron had kept quiet. Nothing he'd have had to say would've made a difference. Dumbledore had decided what was best, and that was that. Ron's destiny was out of his hands. He now understood why Harry complained about the way that Dumbledore treated him._

_Dumbledore, aided by some witch Ron couldn't remember the name of, had coached him on how to behave in the Muggle world. All Ron could think about was how delighted his father would have been. That caused the ache in his heart to intensify, the hole to widen._

"Time heals all wounds," the teacher, Ron forgot his name, was saying again, and he wanted to speak up, tell him that, no, it didn't. It left some wounds open, raw, festering. But, he couldn't find his voice. It had been a long time since he'd spoken to anyone at all, other than earlier that morning when Jasper had followed him out of the school.

"But," the young English teacher gave the room a sweeping gaze, mesmerizing his students as he spoke, "does it? I, for one, happen to agree with Rose Kennedy who said, 'It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.'"

Smiling sadly, Ron, tears in his eyes, nodded in mute agreement. Finally, there was someone who seemed to understand. The rest of the lesson was lost on him as he dwelt upon Rose Kennedy's words. Would the pain really lessen? Right now he doubted it.

He was like one of the Hogwarts's ghosts, wandering aimlessly. There, but not really there. Blending in with his surroundings. Translucent. Invisible. Living and yet not.

"Ron?" Mike stood in front of him, shifting from foot to foot, shooting apologetic glances at his waiting friends. "Class is over."

Ron flushed, his face turning bright red with embarrassment as he nodded and gathered his books. He looked away from his American cousin, ashamed that the fair-haired boy had apparently been waiting for him for a while. Ron could hear one of Mike's friends snickering.

"You can go ahead without me," he said quietly, not looking at his cousin.

"It's okay, we'll wait, it's lunch time," Mike said.

"I'm not hungry," Ron said immediately, eyes darting to Mike, hoping he wouldn't press the issue.

Mike sighed, but didn't say anything. Instead, he stood and waited until Ron got up out of the uncomfortable wooden chair. Ron wished that he was back at Hogwarts. Though he knew that Hermione and Harry would be more persistent than Mike Newton and his friends, he knew that they at least cared about him. It was hard for Ron to tell what Mike thought about him, though he could sense that his cousin was worried and a little vexed.

"You really should eat something, you know," one of Mike's friends, some brown-haired girl, said. She seemed impatient, and was barely tolerant of him.

"I'm not hungry," Ron whispered.

The truth was that he couldn't stand the sight of food. It turned his stomach. Reminded him of what he used to have – a family that would gather around the kitchen table and share stories that would make their bellies ache with laughter and their eyes stream with tears – and would never have again.

"Fine, whatever," the brunette said as she brushed past him and out of the classroom. A wave of annoyance swept over Ron as the girl left.

Ron reluctantly followed Mike and the rest of his entourage, wishing that he could find somewhere to hide for the rest of the day. He still had three classes left, and one of them was what the Americans called gym or PE. It was something that Ron was certain would be better classified as torture.

The gym teacher, Mr. Malcolm, had signaled Ron out from the beginning, almost as Snape had done with Harry back when they were first years. Back when Voldemort had been little more than a legend and Ron had believed that having Harry Potter as his best friend was something special. Now he knew better. Striking up a friendship with Harry Potter had cost him everything that had really, truly mattered to him, though he hadn't realized it until afterwards.

Ron was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't realize they had entered the cafeteria until he accidentally bumped into someone. A tall, blonde-haired girl turned around and Ron's face burned bright under her cool gaze. She looked at him in a manner that reminded him of Malfoy, except when this girl looked at him, he felt as though he was being sized up like a piece of meat. It made him shiver and he took an involuntary step back. It was Rose.

"Watch where you're going," she said, turning her nose up at him.

"I'm sorry," Ron apologized, taking another step back. "I didn't mean to bump into you."

"What's wrong Rose?" a rather large, dark-haired boy wrapped a protective arm around the blonde's slim waist. He recognized him as the boy who'd followed him and Jasper outside. "He bothering you?" The look he gave Ron made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he took yet another step backward, hoping that the angry looking teen wouldn't pummel him.

"No," Ron said, shaking his head.

Terrifying images flooded his mind and his chest tightened, making breathing difficult. A paper white hand reached out to him and he jerked away from it, colliding with what felt like a brick wall behind him. The memory of Voldemort's laughter, high-pitched and wild, caused him to drop his bag and place his hands over his ears in a futile attempt to drown out the phantom sound of disembodied cackling.

His heart was careening in his chest, ramming against his ribs as if trying to escape imprisonment. Ginny's face, eyes filled with terror and tears, mouth twisted in a grimace of pain, silent, aborted scream on her lips, filled his vision and he watched her torture afresh, powerless to help his little sister as a Death Eater plied her with the cruciatus curse again and again.

"Stop," he whispered.

His legs, no more than jelly, gave out and he felt the brick wall give way as cold arms wrapped around him, catching him as he fell.

"Stop," he repeated a little louder.

The images swirled and there was a black-robed man standing in front of him. His curtain of greasy, black hair fell in front of his face, but did not obscure it from Ron who recognized his would-be tormentor as his Potions Professor. But, the professor did not curse him. He held a hand out to him and spoke soothingly, as though to an injured animal, encouraging him to take his hand. Imploring him to trust.

"Easy there," a voice Ron did not recognize spoke into his ear and he was immediately drawn back to the present where he was surrounded by a small crowd of people who were looking at him with a mixture of differing emotions. Worry, discomfort, disdain, amusement…

He caught snatches of conversation around him that made his face redden with embarrassment and caused him to look away as shame washed over him.

"… _freak…"_

" _Isn't he the kid whose family died?"_

" _Do you think he killed them all?"_

"… _Mike Newton's family was forced to take him in."_

"You okay?" the voice asked and Ron nodded.

No, he wasn't okay; he would never be okay again. He couldn't exactly say that, though.

"Edward." Ron recognized the cool blonde's voice as she spoke and felt the arms holding him shift slightly. The censure in her voice rang loud and clear in Ron's ears and he struggled to disentangle himself from his rescuer.

"Rose," Edward replied. His tone was clipped and Ron felt, more than heard, the blonde back off.

"I'm okay now," Ron whispered, opening his eyes and making an attempt to smile.

"Ron, are you okay?" Mike's face was inches from his, and Ron jerked away from his cousin's sudden proximity. Worry and embarrassment hung like a cloud around Mike, wrapping him in a sickly shade of yellow-orange that made Ron's head swim. He closed his eyes, pushing the overwhelming crowd of conflicting emotions away.

"Ron?" Mike's voice cut through the darkness, and he opened his eyes. "Are you okay?"

Ron nodded and stood, with Edward's help, on shaky legs. The entire student body was staring at him and Ron felt panic rising in his gut again as their frantic whispers increased. Dizziness swept over him and he swayed on his feet.

"Edward, bring him over to our table." Jasper's voice was like a beacon to Ron and he sought out the boy's face, smiling slightly in relief when he caught sight of his whitish blonde hair.

"Are you sure that's such a good idea?" Edward asked, but he was already moving, gently urging Ron to move along with him.

Before Ron fully realized what was happening, he was seated in a hard backed chair, surrounded by Jasper and his friends. Everyone else was watching them, but with a single glare from Rose, they turned away and went back to the business of eating their lunches.

Mike gave him a sad smile and a half-hearted wave as he was pulled away by his friends. Ron knew that they didn't like him. He felt their contempt, and could practically hear their thoughts. It made his skin burn and crawl with anger and shame.

"Ron?"

He turned away from the crowd to look at Jasper, and suddenly everything within and around him quieted as he was engulfed with an overpowering peace. For the first time since he'd witnessed the murder of his family, he felt safe, the grisly images which bombarded his mind day and night disappeared, and he could no longer hear the tortured screams of his brothers and sister echoing in his mind. It all just turned off in an instant, and exhaustion, caused by too many sleepless nights to count, took over, rendering him unconscious.

 


	4. Heartbeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Instinct can be stronger than reason.

"Great, now what are we going to do with him?" Rose asked, turning to glare at the sleeping boy as if he'd planned to faint in their midst and was expecting them to take care of him.

Jasper felt an inexplicable urge to rip out her throat, but Alice laid a restraining hand on his arm, and gave him a tight, knowing smile. She'd seen something of the future, and, from the look in her eyes, as well as the feeling of excitement that she was emanating, Jasper could tell that it was something good, or maybe something dangerous. It was times like this that he wished he had Edward's gift of reading minds rather than the often overwhelming ability to feel and regulate the emotions of others.

"I think we should take him to the school nurse," Emmett spoke quietly, mindful of the crowd of students who, while they'd dispersed, were still shooting furtive glances in their direction.

Jasper could sense his brother's anxiety, which mirrored that of Rosalie's. Neither of them felt comfortable with the human in their midst, and he couldn't really blame them. Not with his past. He was rather surprised that he felt so calm around the human boy.

"Edward, what was he thinking before he passed out?" Alice asked.

"I'm not sure; it's like it is with Bella, except not as strong. I can hear a faint murmuring, but nothing more than that," Edward admitted with a slight frown.

"Who is he?" Emmett asked.

He and Rosalie had been hunting when Ron first arrived in Forks, they hadn't heard the stories.

"His name's Ronald Weasley," Alice supplied. "He came to Forks to live with the Newtons after his family was killed, or at least that is what's been passing through the Forks' rumor mill."

"We should bring him to Carlisle," Jasper said, deciding for all of them without taking into account any of the fear of exposure that his adopted siblings felt – the selfsame fear that had filled him with dread when Edward had first started showing interest in Bella Swan.

Except with Ron, Jasper's throat no longer seemed to ache with the dry, excruciating pain as it had when he'd been sitting beside the boy in history class. He no longer any desire to taste the boy's blood, which was a mystery that he hoped Carlisle could help him solve.

His eyes were fixed on Ron, and he didn't like what he saw – dark circles beneath the boy's eyes, tight lines around his mouth, and skin much too pale for someone who was still counted amongst the living. Ron's freckles stood out in stark contrast to the sickly pallor of his skin.

When Ron's breathing took on a desperate, ragged quality, Jasper didn't even think about what he was doing, he reacted without a thought other than to keep the ailing boy alive. Scooping Ron up in his arms, he raced out of the cafeteria with a speed that defied all human laws. Alice was directly on his heels, and the others followed just as quickly, fearful that he was about to break their cover by supping on Ron's blood.

Ron's eyes opened, the red lashes fluttering against his much too pale skin, and then closed. Opening again, his eyes – blue, cold, pained – pierced Jasper with something akin to fire, and caused his dead, unbeating heart to burn within his chest.

"Jasper," Rosalie grasped his arm, brushed against Ron's cheek, causing the young human to flinch, and Jasper to growl – a low throaty sound that had Rosalie pulling her hand back as though she'd been struck.

"What's he planning?"

Jasper was vaguely aware that Emmett had turned to Edward, seeking answers from their resident mind reader.

"Are we going to have to move?" the 'again', for all that it remained unspoken rang loud and clear in Jasper's ears as Rosalie spoke aloud her fears.

Edward shook his head, a blur of black and white as they streaked through the thick foliage of the forest. Jasper hadn't even thought of taking the car, knowing that it would be much too slow, that he and his ad-hoc family could move much quicker on foot than behind the wheel of the heavy machinery that passed for transportation in this modern age.

Ron didn't have much time, the stuttering arrhythmic quality of his heartbeats was slowing, and his breathing was becoming shallower with each breath that he took. His lips were turning blue.

"Hold on," Jasper whispered against Ron's ear, "you're going to be fine."

Ron's heartbeat seemed to pick up at his words, and Jasper increased his speed, sprinting the last few yards to the hospital.

Knowing that he'd have to slow down to a somewhat normal pace, Jasper skidded to a halt in front of the hospital's double-doors, allowing them to slide open before dashing inside to locate Carlisle. There wasn't any other doctor he'd trust to care for the human, not that he knew any of the other doctors at the hospital to make any comparisons.

"Jasper?" Carlisle questioned when he carried Ron into his father's office.

Though there were a number of doctors and nurses gathered in his father's office, Jasper didn't give them a second glance. He faced his father expectantly, holding Ronald tightly in his arms.

Carlisle stood and walked over to them when Jasper didn't answer. He placed a hand on Jasper's arm and made eye contact, speaking low enough so that only the two of them would be able to hear their conversation.

"What happened?" Carlisle asked, and Jasper could sense that his father was worried that he'd done something to hurt the boy in his arms.

"He collapsed at school; I brought him to you," Jasper said just as quietly. "He needs your help."

Carlisle smiled a tight smile, and then turned to face the doctors and nurses who were gathered in his office.

"I'm afraid that we'll have to adjourn the meeting for now, family emergency," he said, gesturing toward Jasper.

"I do hope that everything will be alright," one of the doctors, a portly man, said as he passed Jasper and Ron. He shook Carlisle's hand on his way out the door.

"Let me know if there's anything I can do," a nurse said, smiling in a way that made Jasper uneasy.

"Who is this?" Carlisle asked when the room had emptied.

"His name's Ronald," Jasper said.

"Ah, the Newtons' cousin from Great Britain," Carlisle said, smiling.

"What happened?" Carlisle asked as Jasper placed Ron on the couch.

"I'm not sure, Rosalie scared him, I think, and then he just collapsed," Jasper said.

"So, you didn't..." Carlisle didn't finish his question, but examined Ron carefully, and Jasper knew that he was looking for a bite mark. It didn't make him angry though. Anyone else and it might have.

"No, I didn't," Jasper said, sitting on the couch beside Ron, placing a hand on the boy's arm.

Carlisle continued his examination of Ron, but watched his son out of the corner of his eye, noting his every reaction, wondering why Jasper appeared to be so interested in the newcomer, and how it was that Jasper was managing to control his thirst. He knew how hard it must be for him to be in the same room as the human, how Jasper's throat must ache with the thirst.

"Where was he when he collapsed?"

"In the cafeteria. I don't think he's been eating right." Jasper's eyes never left Ron, and he watched Carlisle's every move like a deadly hawk.

The fact that his son seemed to have been paying attention to the boy's eating habits spoke volumes, and was more than a little disconcerting. Edward's interest in Bella Swan was one thing, but Jasper's apparent interest in Ronald Weasley was something else entirely.

"You got him here just in time," Carlisle said, hoping that none of the misgivings he was feeling had been picked up by Jasper.

He jotted a note about Ron's irregular heartbeat, and the boy's shallow breathing. The young teen's lips were a light blue, and his face was paler than Jasper's, making his red hair seem that much redder, and emphasizing the freckles scattered across his face.

He was a handsome young man, and Carlisle felt bad for him. He'd heard about the boy's loss, and wondered if his condition didn't have something to do with depression. Perhaps that is what had attracted the empathetic Jasper to the boy in the first place. Maybe it had nothing to do with blood, or physical attraction, but empathy for young Mr. Weasley's grieving.

The boy's smell was off, and there was something about that strange, almost sickly sweet smell which seemed familiar, but Carlisle couldn't quite place what it was. Something from his earlier years when he'd lived in Europe. He'd have to look into it when he got home.

For now, though, Ron needed fluids and some sort of nourishment. Jasper's observation, that the boy hadn't been eating properly, wasn't too far off. From what Carlisle could ascertain, the boy was severely dehydrated, and in a state of starvation.

"I'll have to contact the Newtons, and get Ron settled into a room," Carlisle informed Jasper, who had grasped Ron's hand lightly in his own, and was rubbing a thumb over the boy's knuckles.

"So, he's going to live?" Jasper turned his eyes toward his father, and a relieved smile played about his lips.

Carlisle gave him a reassuring smile, and patted his son on the arm. "Yes, but he needs to be hydrated, and he needs nourishment."

"I'm not sure he's been eating at all," Jasper said quietly. He brushed a lock of hair off of Ron's forehead.

Carlisle cleared his throat. "Where are Alice and your brothers and sisters?"

Keeping his eyes on Ron, Jasper shrugged. "They followed me here. I think Rosalie was afraid I was going to eat him."

"But, you won't," Carlisle said.

He knew that the overly sweet smell that was emanating from Ron had something to do with it, and was determined to get to the bottom of what was going on, and why Jasper could be so close to Ron and resist the temptation to imbibe. He simply didn't suffer from the urge to taste human blood that some of the younger vampires in his clan got, so he'd have to ask the others if they too found Ronald Weasley's blood too cloying to want to taste.

Whatever the reason, it would have to wait. Right now Ron needed to be admitted to the hospital, and from the look of things, it would be difficult to remove Jasper from the boy's side. He'd need Alice's help with that, but for now, Carlisle would let Jasper have his way.

 


	5. Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes feeling gets to be too much, and you just go numb.

Ron woke slowly, as though making his way through a thick veil. His head hurt, and his mouth felt like it had been glued shut. He wondered if the twins had done something to him, but he couldn't remember eating any of their latest concoctions, or doing something that would cause them to pull a prank on him.

Or, maybe Ginny was finally getting back at him for that prank that he and the twins had pulled on her at the beginning of the summer. It had been funny at the time – turning her hair green – but he knew that his sister would not let the prank go without exacting some sort of revenge, even if their mother had punished him for it by making him de-gnome the garden.

It had been ruthlessly hot that day, and he'd gotten a sunburn, but no one had shown him any sympathy, and he'd also gone without dessert for an entire week. He should've known that wouldn't appease Ginny's thirst for revenge, though.

Ron wondered what she'd done to him, and why it hurt so much, and if their mother would punish Ginny for whatever it was that she'd done. Given how his mother and father doted on their only girl, Ron doubted that she'd get more than a severe tongue-lashing.

 _'_ Ginny could get away with murder if she wanted to,' Ron thought.

Something about his memories seemed… _off,_ and _s_ uddenly, Ron wasn't so keen to wake up at all. The light was too bright, burning his eyes even through his closed lids, and there was a strange sound beeping in his ears.

"Mr. Weasley, I need you to open your eyes."

_Was that Snape's voice? What was Snape doing at the Burrow?_

Ron had no desire to see Snape outside of school. The speed of the beeping sounds increased, and Ron felt a cold hand on his arm. Reluctantly he opened his eyes, and was confused to find that he wasn't in his room.

"Ginny?" Ron tried to ask, but his tongue felt thick, and his sister's name came out sounding garbled.

It felt like something was sitting on his chest, and Ron was finding it increasingly difficult to breathe. The beeping was growing louder, and it was grating on his nerves. He wanted the sound to stop so that he could think.

"Mr. Weasley, do try to calm yourself," Professor Snape said, and Ron turned his head to look for the irascible wizard.

At first he wasn't certain that he was seeing things correctly because it was Professor Snape's voice that he was hearing, but it was a man with dark hair clipped back in a ponytail, dressed in a crisp white jacket that he saw. He blinked up at the man who had Snape's voice, but looked like someone who actually bathed and groomed himself, and tried to focus on the man's face, trying to understand where he what was going on.

"Who…?" Ron's voice cracked and the rest of his question was lost in a fit of coughing.

"Is he going to be alright?" another voice asked, and, though it was familiar, Ron had a hard time placing who the woman was.

"He's going to be fine," yet another voice said, and Ron tried to turn his head so that he could see the other man who'd spoken, "my son got him to us just in time."

"I…I just," the woman sounded like she'd been crying and Ron wondered what was wrong. "I'm not sure what to do for him. He doesn't eat, and he won't talk, and I'm not sure if he's even sleeping through the night."

"I'm sure that you're doing everything that you can, Mrs. Newton," the unknown man said.

"I'm just not sure it's enough," Mrs. Newton said sadly. "Michael and I were more than happy to take him in, and we want to keep him, but I'm not sure if…if we're what he needs."

"Mr. Weasley, drink this," Snape's voice commanded, and the strange man placed a glass to his lips and lifted his head so that he could drink.

It tasted awful, but whatever it was helped to clear the fog from Ron's mind, and eased some of the pain that he was feeling. He narrowed his eyes at the man with Snape's voice, and saw an eerie resemblance to the dungeon bat from Hogwarts – black, glittering eyes set in a chiseled face, thin lips, and a hooked nose.

Another man stepped into Ron's field of vision. He wore a white coat, just as Snape's lookalike did. But, where Snape's twin was dark, the other man was light – blonde hair slicked back, a bright smile, and brown eyes that looked almost golden. In spite of himself, Ron smiled back at the other man.

"It's good to have you back with us," he said, and he pressed something cold against Ron's chest.

Ron wasn't sure what he should say, so he said nothing as the man placed the cold round thing at different spots along his chest. He shivered from the cold, and his eyes darted toward the man who looked so much like his hated professor.

"Mr. Weasley," the dark-haired man said, "you've been in the hospital for just under a week due to dehydration and malnourishment. In short, you've been starving yourself almost to the point of death." The man's tone was clipped, and angry. Ron could see red and black swirling around the man, like some kind of smoke, and it scared him.

" _Doctor_ Snape," the other man said in a tone that Ron had often heard his mother use when she was chastening his father for being overindulgent with the twins.

Snape's mouth twisted downward in a frown and Ron's eyes widened as he realized that Snape was in some kind of disguise. He didn't understand what was going on, and thought that maybe he hadn't awakened after all – that he was dreaming.

"Dr. Cullen," Snape said, and he tilted his head slightly, but Ron could see that it pained his professor to do so.

"Ronald, do you remember what happened?" Doctor Cullen asked.

Ron closed his eyes. Though whatever potion Snape had given him seemed to have helped clear his mind, Ron found it difficult to think.

 _No big surprise there, big brother,_ Ginny's voice came to his mind unbidden, _you aren't exactly known for thinking._

He felt tears build up behind his closed eyelids, and didn't understand why. Ron swallowed, and tried to breathe, but the weight on his chest seemed to have gotten heavier.

"Ronald?" Doctor Cullen's voice was quiet, concerned, and Ron opened his eyes.

Ron shook his head. "I don't remember."

He knew that there was something that he was supposed to remember. Something big, but his mind was completely blank.

 _Not surprised there, are we Fred?_ George's voice rang in Ron's ears.

 _Always knew that there was nothing between your ears, but hot air, Ron,_ Fred added, and Ron pictured his brothers exchanging a fist bump, their faces split wide with twin grins as they ruffled Ron's hair.

Snape and Dr. Cullen exchanged frowns, and Mrs. Newton gave Ron a watery smile as she patted and squeezed his hand.

"Where's Mum and Dad?" Ron asked.

He tried to peer around the three adults in the room, hoping to get a glimpse of his parents. He suddenly wanted a bone crushing hug from his mother, even though he was too old for it, and he felt an urgent need to see his dad.

Ron looked from one adult to the other, searching each face for some hidden truth. His heart was racing, and he clenched his hands into fists, as he took in the sorrow reflected in the lines of Dr. Cullen's face, the tears flooding Mrs. Newton's eyes, and the stern, yet pained look on his professor's face.

"Mr. Weasley," Snape was the first to break the silence; his voice was softer than Ron had ever heard it before. His professor laid a tentative hand on Ron's shoulder. He couldn't seem to meet Ron's gaze, but he squeezed Ron's shoulder as he spoke. "I'm sorry, but…"

"They're dead," Ron blurted as the memory of what had happened to his parents, his brothers and sister, flooded back to him all at once.

His heart felt like it was going to explode, and the beeping became a loud buzz in his ears. He couldn't breathe, and he pulled at the bedclothes, tried to wrench free of the professor's, Dr. Cullen's, and Mrs. Newton's hands, but they held him firmly in place.

"I'm going to administer a calming draught," Snape said, and Ron fought even harder to escape the hands that held him down.

It felt to Ron as though it was happening all over again. Death Eaters popped out of thin air, right into the middle of the dining room while they were eating dinner. Fred was slipping Ron the remainder of his beets, George was discreetly tossing a pea at Percy's head, Ginny was laughing at something that Bill was saying, Charlie and Percy were having some sort of heated debate, and his mother was passing the potatoes to his father. It was just another ordinary night at the Burrow, and it had ended in tragedy, leaving Ron a scarred orphan.

Ron refused to open his mouth when Snape pressed a glass to his lips, but the wizard whispered some spell that Ron couldn't hear over the beeping and the pounding of his heart. Ron's mouth opened without his willing it to, and the contents of the glass was poured into his mouth which was clamped shut by another muttered spell. Ron swallowed when Snape rubbed his throat, and the cool liquid slid down his throat and spread throughout his body before he could stop it.

Ron didn't welcome the numbing effects of the potion, because when it wore off, nothing would have changed, and he'd be left with an overwhelming sense of loss that would never go away, in spite of what Dumbledore had said. The potion gave him a false feeling of peace, and Ron hated it.

"What about your son?" Mrs. Newton turned to Dr. Cullen, and, though Ron's heart was no longer trying to beat its way out of his chest, and the beeping sound had grown quieter, he found it difficult to follow the conversation.

It felt like he was floating, and Ron glared at his professor. Snape, pale, and shaking, simply returned his look with one that almost looked sympathetic. The wizard had save Ron's life, but Ron didn't feel indebted to him.

"You said that he seemed to have some kind of calming effect on Ron." Mrs. Newton had turned to Snape; her eyes were filled with the same kind of desperation Ron had seen in his mother's eyes when she'd begged Bellatrix not to hurt him. It was strange to see that same desperation in the eyes of his father's cousin, a woman he barely knew, and was determined not to love.

Dr. Cullen and Snape exchanged a look that Ron didn't even try to decipher. He was exhausted from the combined effects of the calming draught and his failed attempts to leave the hospital, and his memories of what had happened to him and his family behind.

"I'll have Jasper come and sit with Ron," Dr. Cullen said after a pause, and Ron wondered why that name sounded so familiar to him.

Mrs. Newton smiled, and brushed at her tears. "Thank you, Dr. Cullen, and Dr. Snape."

Dr. Cullen placed a hand on her shoulder. "There's no need to thank us, Mrs. Newton. I'm sure that Jasper will be more than happy to visit Ron."

"It's just good to see that he was at least making friends before this happened," Mrs. Newton said.

Ron closed his eyes, and let the words of the adults wash over him without really hearing what they said. He didn't care. He didn't care what they were discussing. Didn't care what they ultimately decided. Didn't care, period. The weight seemed to have been lifted from his chest, and Ron could breathe again.

As he drifted off to sleep, Ron pictured a young man who was a couple of years older than him. A boy with skin so pale that it almost appeared to be translucent, eyes the color of butter beer, and sculpted blonde hair. The boy in his dream smiled at him, and Ron felt safe.


End file.
